Red Herring
by Psycho Llama
Summary: About a girl from the 30s, the 1930s to be exact... give or take a few Nazis, undead spiders and a living corpse. This is the story of the Red Herring, as reported by Aviary Gardener to any newspaper that takes this seriously enough to print. Mostly OCs.
1. Beginning

**Red Herring**

Psycho Llama

Summary: About a girl from the 30s, the 1930s to be exact--and by exact I mean give or take a couple of Nazis, undead spiders and living, breathing skeletons. This is the life of Emily as reported by Aviary Gardener to whichever newspaper takes this seriously enough to print. Written for the Hellboy world but mostly concerning original characters, though Rasputin, Kroenen and the Thule Society feature heavily in later chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hellboy or any of the associated. I do own an Abe Sapiens action figure, though.

* * *

Janus trudged through the thickly black forest, elbowing trees to map a path in his mind. He tried to be quiet, but the snares of roots and footholds and the uneven ground soon gave up to cursing and muttering in the dense bush. The red herring was nearby. He was not the only soldier on the hunt, but… he could hear no other noise than the heavy fall of his own boots. Had she killed them all? 

No, he shouldn't think of that. It was just a legend. How did a rebel get to be a legend? Janus stopped that train of thought. It was dangerous to question the Empire. His jackboot slipped and the soldier stumbled into a shallow trickle of water. Janus stilled, thinking he saw something dart across his vision. He saw shimmers leading down to a pool of water. The surface of the water quivered.

Janus aimed his rifle at the water, skidding over the slimy stream. The man fumbled for his torch, aiming at the water and jamming it on. He almost slipped in at the sight of the girl's body that lay face down, submerged in the water. Copper ringlets drifted placidly in the still pool, arms floating uselessly and pale as ice. Janus found himself gasping, though the man had shot countless little girls himself, the dead body in the water had still frightened him.

Maybe a rock slipped. The water seemed to be draining out of the little pool. Janus stopped himself; rather, the girl's head seemed to be rising out of it. She didn't move, but rose steadily, her hair forming a wet curtain around her head as the crown of curls rose above the water. Glistening black eyes locked with his and she went flying out of the water, one hand squeezing Janus' neck as if it would pop. The soldier fell to his knees, not able to gasp for air. The redhead looked dispassionately at the swastika on Janus' arm, and ripped it off.

* * *

The night sky was brighter out in the open country. And yet, all the promise of the word _country_ was stripped bare as the wastelands opened up around the trio and engulfed their little black car. Three men glanced imperviously at the dried mud and rubble, the desert that forms after war has spread. 

There were no roads to follow, nor any reasonable suspension in the wheels to save them from the undulating earth. The driver's white moustache bristled as he fought the motorcar for complete control; broken husks of wooden wheels flickering white in the headlights. The younger man in the back seat leaned closer to his window, looking up at the stars. Beside him sat the man with the silver pocket-watch.

"We're here," pocket-watch announced. The younger man caught a glimpse of the watch face. There was a strange myriad of flickering numbers and symbols but a distinct lack of hands to tell the time. The driver pulled over to the nearest distinct landmark, more ruins of man.

The three stepped out and walked back slowly to where pocket-watch had indicated. The younger man pulled out a pen while idly flipping over pages of his notepad.

"Reporter?" pocket-watch chuckled, watching the younger man with sharp eyes.

The man shrugged, "Anything to make a buck now-a days."

"Hrumph. I expected someone of better reputation for this discovery… which I am about to make."

"Don't get me wrong old chap. We're both looking towards this big break you keep talking about. It'll make my career as much as it'll make yours. _If_ it exists."

"I guarantee you Mr Gardener, this place of mine exists." Pocket-watch assured grimly, "If not in the books of geography, at least in the memoirs my mind."

The driver turned on his torch, a weak beam of light, and skimmed the rough ground surface, "I think that could be that one, sir." Illuminated ahead of them was a dark basin of earth dipping into obscurity.

"After the Maginot Line, a tunnel underground in the wastelands of Britain won't exactly blow up too many skirts, my friend," the young reporter mused, already scribing away.

Pocket-watch smiled to himself. "We're definitely here. This is the entrance. I'd recognise it instantly."

The entrance to the tunnel lay at an oddly horizontal angle, as if to appear engineered by nature. Tight rivulets wound their way into and out of the gaping hole. Rainwater ducts or well-worn tracks of sorts. Aviary Gardener whistled, "That'll be a tight squeeze."

"This way, sirs," the driver announced in his wheezy voice, stalking towards the open mouth calmly.

"The three of us will fit down there?" Aviary asked, pocketing his worn notebook.

"Precisely. That is why our Mister Translator had to remain behind. Poor old chap would never fit into a gap this thin," pocket-watch chuckled darkly, "And you might want to leave your hat behind, young man."

"For some poor beggar to steal?"

The driver approached the hole and manoeuvred to slide himself inwards and then, suddenly… down.

Aviary again whipped out the notebook and sketched a brief hypothesis of the tunnel that their driver had so suddenly vanished into. The pocket-watch man was next, crouching to reach in his arm and throw down the torch. Before Aviary knew it, he himself was climbing from one loose handhold to the lower. The earthen chute halted abruptly and the reporter dropped down.

"This, gentlemen, is the true scale of our mystery tunnel," pocket-watch declared mightily. He waved with his black cane at the vast stretch of underground railway that fading into cold blackness.

"Jove-! Where do these rail tracks come from?" Aviary asked into the dim silence.

"Ah, yes, a very big clue. Who knows? I have yet to traverse the length of this underground. That, Mr Gardener, will our task for to-night."

"Watch your heads, sirs," the driver interrupted, "The ceiling is quite low."

The journalist hurried to keep up, slipping his hat back on. "I see why you kicked up all that fuss at the lecture, then. This is quite incredible Ron… but listen to me. You shouldn't expect to break world headlines with this. I know, it's a fantastic discovery but-"

"There's no need to patronize, my boy!" Pocket-watch frowned and pulled a photo from his blazer. Aviary took it and motioned for the torchlight. It was a black-and-white of a young lady standing alone in the desert above them, looking skywards. She was short and wide-shouldered with spidery arms and distinctly curly hair.

"Who's this, then?" the reporter asked, squinting at the figure's sharp expression.

"A vigilante, if I recall. She was referenced as an assassin, but she's not working for us, _or_ the Germans."

"She sounds scary, let's kill her." The torchlight jerked in the direction of the sound and a pale figure standing inches from the pocket-watch man moved out of the flashing light; two of the men shouted. Aviary realised his left hand was clutching his hat to his head.

The driver shone the torch around the narrow tunnel way, the pocket-watch man holding his cane as if to strike out with it. Aviary couldn't see the redhead girl, but felt a rustle behind him and turned to face the barrel of a very old gun.

"Evening, _gentlemen_," the girl mocked icily. Her eyes locked onto pocket-watch and glinted, "Ronald; I seems the giant tarantula didn't eat you after all."

"My Goodness, child, you actually _live_ in this cave?"

She cleared her throat and removed the gun from Aviary's temple, "No, I've just been sent here to investigate. This tunnel is the only thing getting me to point B and you… three… seem to have stumbled down here quite accidentally."

"By accident-via the one and only entranceway?"

"Yes. Short-sighted to have only _one_ path and _one_ door, in my belief."

Aviary was reaching for his notebook, "Are you the one that made this tunnel?"

"Make a tunnel by myself? What, are you thick?"

"No, no, no, I mean; are you _responsible_ for this tunnel?"

"No. I found it this way."

"Oh really? Railroad included?" Aviary questioned sceptically.

The teen looked down at the train tracks, as if to see them for the first time and rocked on her heels, "I think the railroad came later."

"Child, where does this road lead to, exactly? One cannot strive to build a tunnel that has no ending in this modern day and age."

"…There's a house," she admitted.

"And the house that it leads to? Did this house come as a later development?" Aviary added dryly.

"Oh. Much later. But I think the house was built first."

Aviary slapped his notebook closed; "Now you're just being contradictory."

"On the contrary. It… no, just follow me," she walked between pocket-watch and the driver, following the tunnel onwards, "and it's just faster if you see for yourself."

The pocket-watch man, Ronald as the girl had called him, looked back to his travelling companions, "Right. Well, men-I seem to be feeling in the mood for an adventure."

"Very good, sir," the driver sighed wearily. Aviary nodded with pursed interest.

They all stumbled in the dim half-light. The driver's torch did not much more than shine a dull yellow gauze upon the muddy rail tracks. The redhead gave a rather nasty cuss when she fell foot-first into a fissure and tripped t. She caught onto something, and appeared to hover mid-air as she unstuck herself in tricky twists.

"The clay down here is rather damp."

Pocket-watch snatched the torch and pointed it straight down the wide crack, "By Jove! Something down there _moved_," the gentleman hissed sharply.

"Ignore it. No…" the young lady held up an arm. A disturbed silence settled about them. In the distance, they heard scratching. Pebbles being moved and dropped.

"A-a wind surge, perhaps, sir?" the driver whispered.

The redhead ran back to Aviary and the other two, "Turn your torch off!" she yelled, grabbing the driver's coat. Then Aviary felt the most wretched sensation across his face, and arms and legs and anything else not covered by his trenchcoat. The light vanished. Hairy feelers flowed like water through a floodgate, tickling as they rushed over him and marched on in the millions. They were legs, thousands of feeling and flowing legs that rolled over the four as if they were of stone. For the most part, Aviary tried to be.

The sudden onslaught surged and tapered to a drizzle of crawlers. The reporter flinched as the last crawled past his ear and down his spine. It was a long time before anybody said anything. Aviary could still feel the coarse hairs brushing his mouth and shut it tightly.

"Pick up the pace. We need to get to the house before those things come back."

"What, uh, what were _were_ those?" Aviary stuttered, checking his hat curiously for stragglers.

"Spiders."

"_Spiders_?"

"I don't know. They felt like tarantulas. Didn't like me very much, wee bastards recognised me," she sniffed disdainfully.

Ronald re-examined his pocket-watch in the new light, "A little odd for tarantulas to be moving en masse, is it not?"

"En yes."

"Do they come from 'the house' at all?"

"Good thinking but no, I don't think they do. They keep going along the tunnel past it," she stopped in her tracks, "But we… turn off here." The light shone upwards into a hole on the ceiling, identical to the sheer drop that they had entered through. The underground tunnel, however, kept on going. Seemingly infinite.

"How far does it go?"

"Haven't checked. It catacombs after a while, but then the spiders got angry with me so I left."

Pocket-watch made a face, "To what extent are you meaning _angry_?"

"There was some… swarming. A couple of bites. Would you mind giving me a boost?" she looked to pocket-watch, the tallest, "If it's not too much for you." Fifteen minutes of hefting and scrambling up an unstable, earthy hole and the girl had vanished upwards. Aviary took a moment to jot shorthand scribbles into his notebook, frowning thoughtfully.

"Glad I brought you?" Pocket-watch smiled, "To witness the Red herring? That's what the Germans call her. Oh yes. In German, of course; 'roter Hering', I think." he turned his head upwards, tapping his foot, "Yes, she's caused them a lot of trouble, over the years…"

"How the hell are we going to get up there?" Aviary muttered, "I mean, we don't all have the same girlish figure."

A face poked over the top of the vertical tunnel, "I plan on sliding down some of the floorboards from up here. They're a bit old and… oldish. But I'm at a loss to find you all a rope ladder to your liking."

"Boards will do fine, lass," the older gentleman beamed.

Balancing on a ramp made of two parallel floorboards was a very dangerous acrobatic feat, especially worm-eaten wood with odd bits of nail poking out. The driver was the last one up, needing both men to hoist his short stature the rest of the way in.

They arrived inside of a very old and very dank-looking barn. Or, what had _once_ been a barn. Aviary turned his nose up at the litter of old books, crumbs of chalk and shards of broken glass. Two perfect circles drawn with chalk on the wooden floor held skeletons. They were kept exactly inside the circle by iron chains and very, very old by the look of the rotten clothes.

"What _is_ this?" the gentleman exclaimed in a whisper.

"Something bad," said the Red herring, "This… this all looks wrong. And it stinks of black magick."

Aviary was in a flurry of documentation, getting as much detail as possible. The driver examined an old staircase. It led to a balcony that wound around the inside of the barn. "The windows are covered in dirt."

"Yeah. Yeah, the whole house I think. Underground. I've walked on top of where we are now. There's nothing but more wasteland," Emily murmured.

"Not so," the gentleman held up his pocket-watch, "We are at the exact same distance above ground as before we entered the tunnel. The existence of this structure is, and I hate to admit this, utterly contradictory," he looked up at the girl again with a long and intelligent expression.

The young lady looked all over the three walls, turning her head this way and that. There was a myriad of chalk scribbles higher up on the wood. Stars within circles and zodiacal diagrams, "Damn," she cursed.

"What? You believe in all this pottery and _black magic_?" Aviary joked. He did not, however, copy the symbols.

"There's no such thing as magic," the teen waved dismissively, "This is just a space-time… _thing_." She crouched down before one of the chalk circles, tracing the line with her fingers, "Yes, yes, definitely time."

"Time-travel? Well I suppose going to sleep for a thousand years doesn't exactly work as well in practice as it does in H. G. Wells' world."

"Oh you'd be surprised, ye of little to no imagination."

The driver was standing before the fourth wall, the only wall not _entirely_ visible. Most of it was draped with a long, grey velvet curtain. "Sir," the driver called, "If you will... this fabric is not worn nor faded."

"The curtains seem to be new," The pocket-watch holder agreed to the room of explorers.

"How new?" Red herring called.

"Within a month. The dust hasn't even settled here…" his wrinkled hand fumbled along to the edge of the wall-length curtain and found two ropes. He secured the right one and pulled with both hands. Behind the curtain the fourth wall was a two-storey complex of glass display cages, revealing the purpose of the indoor balcony close to the fourth wall. The glass cages were all empty bar the large one in the centre. Inside hung a dead tarantula the size of a cougar, covered in tattered web. All four stepped back. It was an interesting display, the carcass strung up from within.

Aviary breathed, "If we can get that through those holes, that would make the front cover of Time _and_ the National Geographic! Mister Roger, by Jove we have our break at last."

The driver and the pocket-watch gentleman hurried up the stairs to the observation level, looking into more of the dirty-glass cages. The one above the large tarantula was open to give the operator access to how the trophy hanged. Perhaps, Aviary considered, they could pull it out from there.

"Ronald, be careful," the Red-herring girl cautioned, walking about the other oddities around the mystery barn.

"I will!"

The girl growled at his indifference and made to follow up the stairs. Aviary followed, scribing pages of shorthand by the second. The reporter managed to get a good look at the girl for the first time. He sketched her profile deftly, "Miss? You-you mentioned time earlier. Do you really mean it? Time travel?"

The teen stole a glance at the other gents, "Time travel is entirely real. You, me, this house… we're all travelling through time. Didn't you notice?"

"_What_? Right now?"

"Well, yes. If you couldn't travel through time you wouldn't get very far past your first birthday now, would you?" she smirked and then nodded, "Changing the constant of our travel through time _is_ possible. It's just a damn mess as those two poor bastards over there found out. Experiments with time travel. Very early ones… but they _were_ successful; you've got to remember that. They had to break physics to do it," she sighed irritably, "But they did it."

"…Break physics?"

"We're inside a time-space anomaly as your friend so… _assuredly_ pointed out. This place does not travel through time. It is invisible. It does not exist. And since we're here, neither do we. That's physics right there broken in two. Einstein would be ashamed if he knew. The way that we entered the building and the chalk… they've all got something to do with it. Cultists call this black magick. I for one call this mess a-"

"Pre-proven, scientific fact of… future discoveries?"

"Well, 'Unknown', usually. It's more mathematically sound." The two examined the empty glass shells in the wake of the gentleman and his driver.

Pocket-watch leaned over to stare down at the tarantula on display, "A trinket from the future, do you think? We could be a billionaires, Tom."

The driver walked up behind him and leaned too, "Wouldn't have the foggiest, sir." The driver shoved the pocket-watch gentleman forwards into the glass cage and the older man fell into the display of the spider. Like a trap the legs snapped around him, as the once thought dead monster injected its venom.

The redhead shouted and started up the stairs towards the opening but the driver gripped her by the shoulder and brought his gun up to her waist, shooting her midsection thrice. The girl's eyes bulged and words caught dead in her throat. With a thrust behind him the driver felled the assassin and moved onto Aviary.

* * *

A/N: Yes, it is mostly original characters so far. I promise there will be a little involvement in chapter three at least with Ilsa and Kroenen, but the major characters are, sorry, original in this fic. If you think that this fic really shouldn't be here because it is just too original, tell me in a review. Otherwise, sit back and enjoy! Suggestions are very, very much welcome, as is any feedback. And thank you very much for reading :) 


	2. Train of Thought

**Red Herring **- Chapter 2. "Train of thought"

Disclaimer: I only own the original characters in this. And yes, they will make me mega-bucks one day.

* * *

A bright flash came from the downed redhead and the driver froze on the spot. A blue light like electricity ran over him and he fell over on the floor. Dead. 

The girl stood up, a hand at her waist. She opened her hand and a few flattened bullets fell out. Aviary stared wide-eyed at her empty hand and the old-looking gun that had shot the lightning… not sure which to believe less.

"That isn't possible," Aviary marvelled.

She looked at him with her small black eyes, "Ron was one of my friends. I don't have many. I have even less now…" the girl paused, unblinking, "Tell me your name."

"Aviary. A-Aviary Gardener."

"My name is Emily." She pushed off and started walking down the wooden stairs, "Stay up there for a minute, would you?"

"Why? What are you going to do?" the reporter had to shout.

Emily ran away from the display wall until she stood behind the circles of chalk and the dry, dead bones. She picked up a rather hefty book from the floor and held it flat on her hand. Aviary rubbed his eyes in disbelief of what he was seeing. The book hovered an inch above her hand, suspended in the air, then shot out towards the spider's glass cage. The pane shattered and the giant tarantula jerked just as fast. It reared up against its back wall, dropping its dead prey. The legs twitched a little. Emily reached for her gun. The spider charged at her like a cat with twice as many legs. But it ran into the chalk lines and reared up wildly. Emily flicked out the torch with her other hand and blinded the beast.

Aviary swore and climbed the display rope into the spider's cage. He dropped and rolled on the glass-spilled floor beside the gentleman's body. The old man felt cold and clammy, his eyes unnaturally bloated. Aviary saw the pocket-watch hanging out of his coat and grabbed it, pocketing it swiftly.

A crackle raced through the rafters and the spider was launched back in a web of blue electricity. Emily lowered her gun stoically, "Hold onto the floor, Aviary." She smeared a break in the chalk line with the toe of her shoe. A high-pitched wine stared up and the skeleton started jerking about on the floor.

"What the _hell_?" Aviary exclaimed over the roar that had started. Emily looked at the ceiling and scowled. Aviary looked up too and saw a shimmering and shaking, as if the sky outside was trying to break apart the roof. Emily grabbed the twitching skeleton and dragged it by the arm towards the hole in the ground and disappeared down into it. Aviary followed. They were running in the dark through the tunnel when an almighty gust of wind swept over their heads and knocked them over like skittles. Aviary looked up to see Emily holding a rotting corpse rather than a pile of bones.

Emily picked up the shaking figure, "Bloody hell, keep up! We've got to get out of here!"

Aviary held onto his hat and ordered his legs to start working again. The two of them clumsily darted through the shaking earth chute. A guttural scream was coming from the seizing bundle in Emily's arms. She was holding it firmly and trying not to look at it. Aviary looked down and noticed the body had grown a thick head of black hair. A face turned up to stare at him, black-brown eyes that seemed to regenerate as he watched.

"Don't stare!" Emily snapped over the noise of the rumbling cavern. Aviary tripped over a rock but kept going… but there weren't any railroad tracks any more. Amidst the confusion he heard Emily yelling again, "Aviary! Spiders!"

"The _spiders_?" Aviary heard himself exclaim back.

"Stop running!" The two collided and Emily held him down with the regenerating zombie. A wave of scuttling feet hit them and seemed to flow over and around them, some. Aviary watched them bite and sting the surface of some great force field in the white light of Emily's torch. The girl was clutching them both tightly.

Then she dragged them on forwards. They were getting faster and faster. Aviary feared he wouldn't keep up. They reached the dead end of the tunnel and Emily hoisted the pale body onto her shoulder. She looked up at the reporter, "Stand on my feet."

"Excuse me?" Aviary shouted.

"Stand on my feet. Don't let any part of you touch the ground." The reporter nodded, trusting this dangerous female implicitly. She took out her ancient-looking gun, aimed it at the ground, held onto Aviary and the now living body and fired. Aviary felt dirt swallow him and clawed helplessly to get to the top of it. The claustrophobia seemed to last a lifetime. All around him the earth was falling down and he felt powerless against it. One hand snagged on a solid rock and he hoisted upwards. He felt like he tore his own flesh. The man heaved himself onto a solid shelf of dirt and looked back at the new valley carved into the basin of the wasteland. Emily was lying close by, panting hard. On the ground at her knees lay a girl of about twelve years with black hair and a vividly yellow dress. She sat up, her skin pale but healthy, and looked around the destroyed landscape.

"This… this is the world? Did you bring me to help?" she asked in a small accent.

The red herring groaned and rolled onto her hands and knees, clenched tight against some pain, "The world doesn't need help, Maria. It's too late for that. Right now all I am trying to save is you."

Emily stilled, gathering her lithe limbs about her and rose with all the grace of an epitaph, "You brought a car here, didn't you Aviary?"

He nodded.

"Can you drive? I can't," she admitted, staring into his eyes in an eerie way that made one think she could read minds.

"Well, I. Yes I can. But," The reporter tilted his head back at the stars in exertion, "Shouldn't we wait a while first?"

"No," Emily snapped, "All they need is three hours and this place will be crawling with spies. The bad kind, the kind that kill children." she gripped the girl called Maria by her forearms and lifted her upon her two shaking white legs, "This is Maria. Some people are trying to kill her right now."

"There have _always_ been people trying to kill me," Maria echoed sedately.

Aviary felt a shade colder, presently getting to his feet and slipping on the mud, "Oh-Who do you mean by _some people_?"

"Well there's Mister Moray who works as an accountant in the International Bank down town. He belongs to a cult that worship evil things. Evil men own various instruments that nobody for their life could understand but everyone, it seems, seem to use. He knows Maria is here. He probably knows that I'm here. In fact, he's more than likely to be rushing out of his bedroom right now to try and stop the pair of us using some evil instrument. How fast does your car travel, Mr Gardener? Because I don't want to be here."

The girls were walking too fast for Aviary to keep up without jogging every third step, "I don'tthink we should take the car."

Emily stopped, "Why not?"

"I left it very close to where we entered the tunnel. We had a black Model T… But it isn't here anymore." Aviary reached into his pocket and pulled out the pocket-watch, "Maybe this thing will help us find it."

Emily secured his wrist with an icy grip, "This was my friend's. I like you, you're very resourceful." She studied the watch face. The silver metal was highly ornate around the flickering symbols and figures that vanished and appeared on small silver squares. What's more, the markings were all glowing as if coated by phosphorous, but bright green. "See that one there?" she pointed with a sharp finger, "Aires. That means Mars. Damn it!"

"So this is how they dream up horoscopes, is it?" Aviary commented sceptically, his wrist still in the strong grip of the redhead.

"No. No, this measures planets. Mars. Mars is active. That is bad for us. Mars is the home of a very _real_ dormant evil," her mouth worked as if she wanted to say more. Her dark and almost transparent eyes caught on his once again, "Do you really want to be a part of this?"

Mr Gardener put his hand in his pocket and felt the reassuring shape of the notebook, "Yes. Everything."

She looked back to the pocket-watch, "There are sentinels on Mars that are watching me very closely."

"Sentinels on Mars in league with this Mister Moray?"

"Bigger than Mister Moray. He is just part of an occult and the occult… to them, these sentinels act as their _Gods_," Emily tried to explain.

"Their Gods… are watching you? On Mars?" Aviary murmured, piqued.

"They are not Gods!" Emily snapped, "They are _beings_. They live, they die. They command those around them as Gods because there _are_ such fools in our world and Mister Moray is one of them. Now where the _be dammed_ is your car?"

The reporter stared blankly out at the abandoned plane, "Not here. I think I told you that."

The black-haired girl called Maria stepped closer to them. Emily growled, "Well, Aviary, that means they've already arrived." She spun on her heel and pulled something from the long pocket of her trousers. She hurled the handful of what looked like crushed up chalk over the edge of the cliff. "Aviary!" The redhead yelled. He looked to her and smiled helpfully. "Aviary! You need to"

At that moment the black iron of a steam engine reared up out of the solid earth behind Emily like a ghost through a wall and ploughed on forwards, collecting Emily and Maria in its wake. Emily swung herself to the top of the billowing steam engine in the blink of an eye with twists of the body that defied even Aviary's stunned imagination. The train and its tracks continued to rise out of the ground and veered suddenly away from the reporter. Aviary yelled out and ran alongside it.

"Get on!" Emily hollered. The carriages were flying past Aviary so fast he couldn't count them. He held out his arm and hooked himself onto the end of one car, the momentum slamming his shoulder into the start of the next. Aviary stiffened with a cuss. The man moved slowly to the side and slid himself over the unforgiving metal bars and into the narrow back-entrance door.

The red herring straddled the rocketing locomotive and clung onto the rough metal with her bare hands. She could hear Maria below her crying for help but shut it out. She started hearing other things. She could hear the breathing of the great fire that powered the engine and the wheels stampeding over the rails. Her mind soothed itself over the mechanical muscles of the beast. When she opened her eyes the world looked different, but she could see the rail tracks below her.

Emily felt a powerful rage flow through her that launched itself at the tracks, bending them to her will. Emily strained to the left and the tracks leading her stead obeyed.

Maria watched as her new bodyguard's eyes closed in deep concentration. When Emily opened her eyes they shone solid black from lid to lid. Otherworldly. But then again, had her Pa ever brought her less?

Inside the train all noise and rush of the outside became muffled and indistinct, the world rushing past violently and the little lights swinging freely from the ceiling. Delicate was sprinkled in shard on the carpeted floor, but unspoilt meals lay on the tables. Fresh, and in some cases, still warm.

Aviary absently grabbed a slice of pie from one of the dainty plates and paced from one car to the next, moving faster and faster through each passing door and the sudden bursts of booming noise. It was too eerie in the cabins. It looked as if the passengers had all simply vanished-not even a trace of their bones left behind. Suddenly he came across a door locked. He took a step back. The reporter slammed his foot into the door in the exact right point between the lock and the centre of the door, splintering the old wood and breaking the door in two.

Maria screamed and covered her face to avoid the splinters. Her girlish yellow dress was streaked with coal and grime, her hands completely black.

"Where's… where's the other one?" Aviary called over the roar of the engine.

Maria took her hands away and shouted back, "She's on the roof! She's driving the train!"

Aviary looked incredulous, "What do you mean _driving_? We're at the controls!" The locomotive swerved violently and the two of them clung to the rusty interior.

Maria poked her head out one of the windows. They were still driving over wasteland. The girl turned her head into the rushing wind, "Oh!" She pulled in and hid behind the metal wall. Aviary grabbed the ledge and thrust his head out the window. He could see the dark figure of a fat man standing very close to the tracks up ahead. The reporter watched as the train sailed past him. Aviary was sure it was the infamous Mister Moray, standing as still as ice-even the smoke from his pipe frozen in place. He disappeared into the darkness as quickly as he had appeared and the machine kept on moving.

"We must be bending time," Maria said loudly, "Like my Pa. We're not travelling through time like everyone else. Only _God_ can see us now."

"Maria, we need to get on the roof!"

The little girl looked terrified, "_No_!"

"Yes! Emily's up there!"

"But she wants us, she need us to be _safe_," Maria whined, "I was told! We need to stay safe!"

"We're going up there because it is safer with her than anywhere else in this world. Trust me, I'm a reporter."

Maria just stared at him for a minute, but nodded, "Okay!"

"Give me your arm, I'll help you up," Aviary walked shakily to the end of the control carriage. His eyes saw the chord hanging from the ceiling. He couldn't say no. With some sort of abstract glee the reporter pulled the string and heard the steam engine blaze out a toot.

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A/N: I love trains. Just telling you. Reviews are very much appreciated, and thanks again for reading this! You made it through round two! Awesome! 


	3. Gull Able

**Red Herring **- Chapter 3. "Gull able"

Disclaimer: I don't own Mike Mignola's evil villains. ...I'd like to.

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Emily grappled with the train as the tremors threatened to toss her off. Its wheels were crumbling over on the rocky ground. The tracks had vanished into the dirt a while back. Steam shot out of the chimney, cutting into Emily's revere and jolting her alert with a string of profanities. She turned her head and saw the reporter making sure his hat wouldn't fly away, "Aviary?" He looked up and waved. Emily glared, "Aviary! The train is disintegrating!" 

"What?"

"The train is breaking up!"

"Damn. I've got Maria here," Aviary yelled.

"Good! We'll need her."

Maria's head popped over the bell "But I hate trains!" The train juddered violently and the wheels shrieked. They were driving on rails again. Emily's hands clutched at the yellow light.

Aviary held on with white knuckles as the tracks swerved sharply around a corner. A large knobbly hill rocked into view with a dark, tight tunnel running through it. "We are going to crash!"

"Aviary, don't leave Maria behind! We're going to run."

Maria locked her grip onto Aviary's arm and tried to imagine how she could possibly jump off the back of the train. Her mind predicted failure and an avalanche of pain, "Aviaryyy…"

Emily was the first to jump. She swung her arms as high as she could to catch the brush above the tunnel. Aviary hooked his arm around Maria's waist and launched them off the back of the train alongside the redhead. Something invisible hit Emily square in the back and hurtled her up the hill. Leaves and dirt crunched into the girl's face and arms, tumbling her over and over. Maria and Aviary felt the kick-forwards a moment later, so powerful the abrasive ground spun Aviary until he could no longer determine which way the gravity pulled, leaves flapping in his face. He landed in the sky and something sharp stabbed his arm.

"Aviary!" Marie squealed as she fell past him. Aviary wrapped his injured arm around a bush and grabbed at the tumbling girl. His fingers brushed hers but missed and she kept skidding down. The foliage went silent. The reporter unwound himself from the short tree. Emily came crashing down through the thick branches.

She looked about in a panic, "Where's Maria?"

"She fell. Down there. I tried to grab her."

Emily didn't hesitate any longer, thrusting herself feet-fist into the green hillside. "Emily!" Aviary scrambled after her with the desire to, if anything, not to be left behind. "Emily!" He put all of his weight on one leg and the ground sagged beneath him. Aviary grabbed wildly but his foot fell through a tangle of weeds and the reporter helplessly fell with it. Small twigs broke beneath him as he skated down the hill on his behind. Aviary landed on something hard and had the wind knocked out of him. He had reached ground level.

Maria was crouched on the ground tending to a pair of bright red grazes on her knees.

"I think we got out of the way without being followed," Emily sighed.

"Yeah, but you cheated by stopping time," Maria objected.

"I didn't stop time, I just…" Emily threw her hands up in emphasis of her point, "Ran a train through the middle of it."

Aviary frowned, "So… were _is_ the train?"

"Somewhere. It's somebody else's problem. What_ we _have to do is walk all the way to that tiny speck of a town on the horizon. _Before _ lunchtime. Still up for walking?"

"I haven't yet found my car," Aviary lamented.

"Fine, then we're walking."

"Wait! Why do we have to get there before lunchtime?" Maria looked out towards the distant town they were heading towards, soaked red in the rebirth of the sun, "No. Why are we going there? I can't go to that town! My father, Pa, he told me not to go there. It isn't _safe_ there. He said so."

"I know what your Pa told you, Maria," Emily murmured.

"Then why are we going?"

"Think it'll be the last place they expect us to go?" Aviary asked, "Because if I were a villain it would be the second place on my mind. I vote we go to Singapore. They'd never look there."

Maria walked faster to keep step with Emily, "I want to go to Singapore."

"I know you do. Aviary, you aren't helping," the redhead scolded.

The reporter was taken aback with the genuine irritation. He tilted his hat respectfully and brought out his notebook. He followed behind the two females, foraging through the small inky scribbles for anything he had not written down. Mr Moray. Aviary studied the sketch intently, bringing the memory back to the surface. He traced over the sketchy outline, filling in more details on the walk. There was an outline, broad and rumpled. He hadn't seen the man's eyes. Aviary slipped on a patch of mud and almost lost his balance.

"What are you writing?" Emily asked, turning her head back to glance.

"Notes. For my paper. They'd kill for this story," Aviary grumbled.

Emily smirked. Maria walked at the head of the trio, "I know someone who lives in the town we're going to. Pa said it wasn't a good place to visit, though. He said we should not talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Safety. Pa said so. Pa said if we didn't use names the danger wouldn't get to us," Maria looked around them, "It was a friend of my Pa's; she used to work with Pa on his experiments and things…"

"Left," the red herring directed. The trio cut through a particularly dense section of trees, the conversation boiling down to a murmur.

Aviary returned to his notebook but found little inspiration, "...Emily,"

"God, I hate that name," the young lady muttered.

"Really?"

"What?"

"Oh, sorry. Who is Mister Moray?"

"Mister Moray?" Emily closed her eyes; "He's a man in his late 50's who is a member of the Teutonic Order. Teutonic, that's like the Thule Occult. As in… 'Accept this sacrifice, oh mighty lord of darkness'."

Aviary's eyebrows arched, "Sacrifices?"

"Mister Moray has killed at least three people, the ones that I know of. Ellyn, Russell and Jerome. Don't get yourself added to that list, alright?"

"I'll try."

The morning opened slowly. Maria stumbled along half-asleep with her arms gripping the crook of Aviary's elbow. The reporter had not slept since the afternoon beforehand, but was impressed at how far they had travelled on foot. It was late in the morning when Aviary suddenly noticed the number of houses passing them by.

"If someone looks at you strangely, tell me," Emily murmured. Aviary's head bobbed upwards to the broken silence. The girl's eyes flickered, "I don't know who else has arrived in town since we left that underground place."

"You know, _strangely_ doesn't give much to work with."

"I think the difference between, say, _curious_ and a _death threat_ would be obvious to even you, Aviary."

Closer to the docks, the population of houses became denser. Emily took them through a series of winding back-roads and narrow streets until they came outside a rather ordinary house. Maria groaned and rubbed her eyes, "Why are there so many seagulls?" The small brick bungalow was covered in birds.

"Shoo!" Emily barked, sending a few of the feathered rats into the sky.

Aviary looked at the neighbouring houses… "Not a seagull in sight. They seem to be only perching on this one house in particular. Did you have something to do with this?"

"I hope I didn't. We need to go inside." Aviary guided the drowsy Maria towards the front door, following the adamant Red Herring. She tried the door; "Locked." The teen pressed her hand to the lock and waited. Scowling, she pulled out her ornamental gun and-

"You can't fire a gun in a neighbourhood like this!" Aviary hissed, "You'll get strange looks _and_ death threats from _everyone_!"

"Calm down!" Emily whispered sharply. She flipped the handle over and used it to bludgeon the hinges off the door, albeit noisily. She took a step back and rammed her shoulder into the wood and bounced off.

"No, no. You use your foot. Kick the door in!"

"Why don't _you_ kick it in? Wait…" Emily pulled at the door and it opened with a sickening crack, "Ah. Should have known. Very weird front door, though. Smart."

Maria's eyes opened and went round, "You broke in?"

"Come on, you go in first. Stay downstairs. We need to check out the kitchen."

"Check for what?" the reporter questioned.

"Clues. The detective kind." Emily swooped in through the doorway following the little Maria. The brick enclave was packed with scientific instruments and old paper thick upon the desks. It could have been a laboratory. The kitchen was wholly dedicated to polished tin cans filled with what was definitely not food.

Maria picked up something wooden from a shelf, "This is Helena's house, isn't it?"

"Who's Helena?"

Emily leaned against a desk, "Helena worked with your father, didn't she?"

Maria nodded, "She helped him with his experiments. She was really smart."

"Can you remember any… projects that they were working on before the time-machine?"

"Oh, I know!" Maria ran into the kitchen and peered into some of the tin cans, sorting through the stacks along the bookcases and tabletops. "Here," she showed Emily the contents of the can. A clear, yellow jelly. Maria looked up at her, "It stops fire burning. You can put fire in this jelly and if you take the jelly away it will start burning again," she grinned toothily.

"Ooh," Aviary murmured.

"Now we're on to it! Did your father make anything with fire in it?"

Maria shrugged, "I don't know."

"Darn it…"

Aviary scratched his head with a pencil and looked skywards, "What kind of clues are we looking for, anyway, Emily? ...Notes? Death threats?"

"What have you found?" Emily asked impulsively.

The reporter pointed up at the wooden rafters. Maria and Emily had to walk into the hallway to see what he was staring at. Carved into the ceiling was a short sentence in German. Aviary frowned, "I can't even read that out loud."

" '_You have made a mistake'_.' " Emily recited, "Does that scare you?"

Maria's face whitened, "Someone wants to kill Helena?"

Emily poked Aviary's chest, "You need to go down to the post office. Write a letter. Tell your newspaper friends what's going on. And you need to find out some gossip. The person who did this? They would have attracted some attention," the redhead turned to look back at the violent inscription, "I should have noticed that myself."

She inclined her head closer to him; "There is also someone else in this town that can help us. We need to find them. Don't write that in your article but… look out for people playing with fire," the youth smiled wryly.

"Your wish," Aviary tilted his hat with notebook in hand.

"Aviary. Don't get yourself killed. I'm not joking."

"Not on purpose. Is that the way to the post office?"

"It's by the docks. Near the pub, just follow the noise."

The reporter nodded and took off at a brisk pace. Emily turned back to her young charge. Maria was playing with some knick-knacks she had collected, fitting smooth pieces of wood together like a jigsaw.

The youth pulled over a chair and sat down, "Maria, did you know anyone that wanted to hurt Helena?"

"Nobody would want to hurt Helena. Everyone thought she was just his assistant, but she was smart. She made me a lot of things when she was in Pa's workshop, like toys." The wooden pieces clicked together as effortlessly as joints, "She tried to stay out of the way of the people Pa worked with, because she was a woman. You know how men think women aren't smart."

Emily smiled, "Or brave."

The little girl nodded, "Helena wanted to help people. She sometimes got into fights with Pa, but no one ever wanted to hurt her."

"Helena told me where to find you," the redhead told her grimly. Her hand slipped into a pocket and pulled out a shred of folded notepaper, "Directions. They led me to you. I think she wanted you to have something that belonged to your father. Come on, we need to look around."

Maria snapped the wooden pieces into a broken ring and left it on the table. The pieces started moving like a Newton's cradle in a loop, one piece of wood jumping across the gap to the next in rhythmic succession.

Aviary jogged into the main street by the wharf. A blonde lady was milling about in front of the post office while another couple was strolling along the pier. The reporter eased the glass door of the post office open, ringing a brass doorbell which crackled in the silence.

The young man flicked open the notebook to the very beginning. Ronald explaining the strange discovery he had made; the half-sketch of the Red Herring pointing her strange-looking gun. "I'm really sorry, Ronald." He sat down at a desk and started his article.

Halfway through the blonde cast the door open and clicked in on high heels, ringing the bell again. The shrivelled man behind the counter looked up only momentarily. Aviary pulled out a new sheet of paper and started a different letter to the post, anonymously informing them that an English banker by the name of 'Mister Moray' was responsible for a murder in the outskirts of London.

"Damn white rats," the blonde muttered, watching the seagulls swarm across the wharf from the other side of the glass.

"The seagulls?" Aviary asked.

"Mmm. All over my house this morning, I haven't a clue as to why," she spoke with a foreign lilt that Aviary just couldn't place.

"So that was your house… in the, um, east... of here."

The blonde sized him up, "You saw it, did you?"

"Are you… Helena? By any chance?" Aviary tried to sound casual. Perhaps one octave too high.

She gave him a severe look but nodded, "I am."

Emily grabbed an armful of books and slammed them on the floor. No luck. "Maria?" the redhead called through the house. Helena had left the clues for a reason. She had left something behind for Maria, but what was it? Important, but had the Thule Society found it already? Kroenen had scratched that warning into the ceiling-she should have seen that earlier. Helena didn't know German, so whom had he left it for after all? The girl shook off a shiver, "Maria?"

Emily felt like kicking something. Maria had gone upstairs. "Maria, wait!" she darted up the staircase, hooking her arms into the above handrail and swinging herself up and over a flight. Maria was backed up against a wall, deathly afraid at the sight of the person across the room from her.

"Maria, it's okay," the redhead told her calmly, "Just come over here."

A shadowy figure was sitting propped up on the neatly made bed. The dark, empty eyes were void of life. Helena was dead; parts of her throat hanging in bloodless tatters. Emily shook her head, "I found her that way. I don't think anybody from around here knows she's dead. She left clues, Maria. She wants to help you. The people that got to her, though… they might have taken the thing we're looking for."

Maria jumped over to Emily, gripping her arm tightly. The little girl faced away from Helena's body. She tried to control her face, "Who did that?"

"The same person that carved the warning into the ceiling downstairs, I think, and that's not good. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dead scared of him."

Maria wiped her face clear with her palm, "Is he trying to kill me?"

"I don't know. We need more clues," Emily pulled out her gun and dialled the power down.

The redhead walked past her small charge and began firing her gun at random objects in the room. Blue arcs stuck to books, papers and knick-knacks, crackling and dissipating with a blue glow. An arc hit something resembling a dead frog, causing it to twitch and jiggle right off the desk. Another shot hit a piece of paper and sparked. Emily frowned and shot it again. "That is what we are looking for."

The paper was blank apart from the scattering of sparks. Emily picked it up and sniffed it, "Ye Gods! That smells _terrible_. Want to?" she offered it to Maria.

Maria contorted her face, "Stinks like rotten jelly."

"Clever," Emily grinned. She rustled through the dead woman's belongings until she found something to scrape with. A butter knife proved to be sufficient as Emily worked away at scraping the rotten jelly off the paper. She hissed when a flame came to life beneath her hand and scorched a mark on the paper.

Aviary fidgeted with his pen, "I was just investigating a lead that an old colleague of mine brought up. I wasn't sure whether to write it as an actual article or a piece of fiction. It was all quite odd. W-We never did catch up with Roger. I think he made it out alive, though."

The blonde traced a nail down the half-written article, looking interested, "You make an invasion of seagulls seem trivial with this. It is good writing."

"Thank you," Aviary nodded.

"Though, it ends very suddenly. How did you get into town?"

"We walked. Um, Briskly."

Helena gave him an unimpressed glance and skimmed the letter again, "So, these… companions of yours… I suppose they are investigating my house as we speak. Perhaps I should go over there and say hello."

"That might make looking for clues a bit easier," Aviary offered nervously.

The blonde smirked, "That it would. Finish your letter, I will tell them that you are doing well."

"It was nice to meet you Helena," the reporter inclined his head. The woman merely waved a hand in recognition as she strode out of the post office. She was heading off in the direction of her home at a swift pace.

* * *

A/N: Yay, readers! Finally, some actual characters from Hellboy, eh? 


	4. The Seed

**Red Herring **- Chapter 4. "The Seed"

Disclaimer: If you see something that belongs to you, then it's probably yours. Lawyers are allergic to me!

* * *

Aviary stood and scratched his head. There was a piece of the puzzle that he was missing, and he couldn't figure out what it was. He needed more stationary if he was to finish his letter. Searching for change in his trenchcoat, the heavy pocket-watch knocked against his hand. Aviary had completely forgotten about it, editing out Ronald's death from his tale. 

"I wouldn't trust 'er, my friend," the man behind the counter tittered. Aviary held the memento tightly. Ronald had the device for a reason. "She says she lives 'ere. But I know every man an' woman that lives in this 'ere town and she i'nt one of em. We've only got one Elena."

"No, I was talking to a _Helena_," Aviary replied loudly.

"Helena Josef. Yes. And she sure wusn't a blonde. And she didn't sound like a German, _neither_," the wizened postman's attention drifted back to his newspaper.

German. The reporter dragged a hand down his face, "Oh _God_." His other hand was still gripping the pocket-watch. He pulled it out and took a dive, looking intently at the flipping symbols. Three central panels had Latin symbols on them. He had made a mistake.

"Elena came by not two weeks ago. Aven't seen 'er since. Awful fright'nd of somethin' though…" he licked his thumb and turned over a page.

Aviary stared, "Really? Did—did she tell you why?"

The man shrugged openly, "Said some people were after 'er. Tryin' ta kill 'er. Said they wouldn't be the type of men ta ask a postman fer directions," he looked up through thick glasses, "That's why she told me. _Old Ernie_, she said, an' maybe a bit more politely than that, _I mightn't be here fer very long. If any nice people were ta ask after me, send them on down to the pub. _The _pub_, she said. An' 'er family were the Temperance sort. All sorts a' scandals now-a-days."

"The pub?" Aviary repeated.

A nod. "Aye, the pub."

"Next door?"

"Two doors down. You postin' that letter, lad?"

"Oh, yes. I'd also like to buy some more stamps."

Ernie looked grey faced, "God save 'er soul."

Aviary took long strides over the pavement. The pocket-watch had spoken first. Pub. In Latin symbols, the archaic calligraphy that marked the Saint's name's in his grandfather's Bible now instructing him towards the pub. The reporter could visualize his own grandfather divining the same with his own instruments.

Aviary opened the doors to the pub and slid in. It was quite empty, even considering it was only close to noon. Clearing his throat, he went straight to the barkeeper, "Hello. I'm looking for…" And what to say next? "Helena?"

"Helena!" the barkeeper yelled. The two or three patrons looked dimly at each other and ignored it. The barkeeper shook his head, "Not here."

"Actually, I'm _looking_ for a Helena."

"She's not here."

"I was told to come here by a Helena."

"So you're telling me that you came here because Helena told you to come here to look for Helena. Are you sure?"

"…Kind of. Can you help me?"

"Helena!" the barkeeper called out again, even louder. The patrons scowled at the intrusion but didn't respond further. "Want any more help?"

Aviary leaned his elbows on the counter, "Hypothetically, if…"

"Who wants Helena?" a disembodied voice asked from behind the bar. Two pale arms reached up over the counter and Emily pulled herself up, "Hi Aviary. I thought I heard you."

"_You_ left me at the post office," Aviary replied vexingly. The young man leaned over the counter, "What's down there?" The barkeeper simply scowled at the reporter, not taking any notice of the redheaded lady appearing out of the ground.

"I was just hiding, that's all. There's a bunker behind the pub. They took Maria in there but not me and I _can't_ understand why, I'm not a danger to them. I'm—I'm searching for the way in."

The barkeeper drummed his nails on the counter, "Not… _appreciated_," he muttered without looking at her.

"Then tell me where you took her!" Emily hissed.

"Well I'd start with a bookcase… strange plumbing… or—or a revolving wall, like '_The Mystery at Lilac Inn'_. Feel around for some loose panels while you're down there."

"You're a loose panel."

"Mind your manners!"

"…Not helping…" The barkeeper added tersely.

Emily straightened, though still on her knees, "Where did you take my _girl_?"

Through the hidden doorway behind the bar was an old concrete bunker. Inside Maria was seated in the middle of a grand dining table, helping herself to lunch. There were men and women seated all around her, wining and dining alongside the silent child. Maria tried to make eye contact with some of them, but they all ignored her.

There was a sound like a thunderclap and a deep voice spoke out from the crowd, "Now then! I feel we have a presentation to make…"

Maria jumped to her feet in surprise. A tall, bearded man moved towards her. Maria gripped the table, looking wide-eyed at the strange figure. He bowed his head to her, "My name is George. These people do not know who you are, but they are here for the same reasons that _you_ are here, Maria Farbauti."

Maria had to bite her panic and force her mind to think, to chance, "T-they know about Helena?" He knew her name. Her father had warned her of that. What had he said?

George nodded, "Oh, they know about that. And here, we have for you… a box," he laid out a trapezium-styled metal case upon the table. "I think you know what's in this box, young one. Helena willed it to be yours especially." Some of the men and women at the table were craning their necks closer, trying to see what was inside the shut lid.

Maria grabbed the man's arm, "Excuse me, but who are these people?"

George grinned, "They are good people, Maria. People who knew our Helena. Open the box."

She stared at the bearded man for a while, but her eyes gravitated towards the metal container. She saw her own small, pale hands in the reflection of the steel lid as she opened it. It was half filled with the same yellowish jelly she had seen back at Helena's house and stunk horribly. Suspended in the middle of the thick goo was a small, white bead. "What's that?"

"Go on, take it."

"But what does it do? Is it on fire?"

"It was Helena's will. Take the seed."

"I don't know!"

George sighed and hung his head, "Ah well, then. Come, sit down." Maria seated herself at the table, following his lead. She had suddenly lost her appetite. George sunk his fingers into the gelatine. Maria watched in wonder as he picked up the bead with gluey fingers. The man looked to the other people seated at the table, all watching in fixation, "Watch closely my friends." He grabbed Maria's hands by the wrists. The girl cupped her hands as if by instinct and he rolled the little bead onto her palms. The tiny sphere rolled across her skin and flared alight.

"Oh…" Maria murmured in awe.

"Argh!" Emily struck her thigh in frustration.

Aviary flinched on the barkeeper's behalf as the redhead grew more and more enraged. It was like watching a kettle pace and boil with growing violence. She would start shooting steam from her mouth at any minute.

The barkeeper wasn't talking. It was if the entire town was under some sort of spell. But the blonde had been exempt from this phenomenon. There were probably more secrets under these few thatched roofs than Aviary had ever uncovered for the press; he sighed, "It's the town."

Emily looked up from her crouch behind the bar, "What's the town, Aviary?"

"It's the entire town. All of them, strange people," he was watching the patrons sitting idly at the tables.

The redhead blinked, "Do not be weird Aviary. Just look for the hidden door."

"Fantastic. Do you really believe that our readers want to hear tales about you feeling along the floor of a tavern for _cracks_?"

"Well why don't you put your one skill to good use and interrogate this Buttoned-up Barman or you can get down on your knees and start helping."

"…!" Aviary stormed into the gents'. He felt like letting off steam himself. He was hungry and tired and Ronald had died. The reporter leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the mirror. The turquoise bathroom tiles of the floor were littered with tiny specks of wood. He tried focusing his anger on them.

But what would broken bits of wood be doing in a bathroom? The reporter treated this as a suspicious clue and looked about. They were scattered about quite evenly. Aviary pounded on the door of the sole cubicle. His hammering stopped but he heard no reply. Aviary dropped to his knees and looked under the door. It was empty, "Aha!"

He slammed his heel into the lock of the door, splintering the eggshell wood and banging the flimsy entrance open. The toilet had been ripped from the wall, revealing open water pipes and a metal bunker door, "Just like my Grandfather. Gentleman clubs," Aviary scoffed, "And the one place a lady would never look. Not like she's much of a lady, though, Grand."

"You're not letting Maria drink wine, are you?" one of the anonymous women whispered across the table.

George shook his head, "Not a full glass."

Maria was not even aware the glass was before her; she held the burning bead reverently in her hands as her mind flittered from awe to puzzlement. And all around her was silent. "It's pitiful," she finally remarked.

George almost dropped his fork, "It's fire."

"I can see that. I just thought fire would be more… you know. I thought fire would be grand. Maybe Pa…"

"It's still fire in your hand. How many people have fire in a hand? Yourself. That's who. And nobody else."

"…It won't even scorch the table!"

"Stop trying to scorch my table!" the woman whispered scornfully.

"But I'm not!"

"She had the intent…" George smirked behind steeped fingers.

Emily studied the barren door to the mysterious bunker, stroking her chin.

"How could they take Maria in here without you knowing?"

"The barkeeper was talking to me. He's quite engaging when they want him to talk. Bastard."

Aviary boldly knocked on the door, watching for Emily to stop him. She didn't. But the door did not open. The redhead's brooding composure snapped like a wire; Emily attacked the door with her fists, yelling shrilly, "MARIA! We're outside! Make them open the door!"

"Emily!" Aviary hissed. His ears rang.

The door opened faster than Aviary could account for. Suddenly before them stood a striking man with a beard, Even the Red Herring's infamous hair stood motionless in sight of the man, himself a whole head taller than Aviary.

"_roter Hering_," the tall man laughed.

"George," she that was she replied tartly.

Aviary sat down in the empty space beside Maria. Emily and George seated themselves at opposite heads of the table, keeping their eye contact locked. The reporter watched the magic trick in Maria's cradled palms burn and flicker.

"It keeps going," Maria whispered, not looking away from the fire in her hands.

The reporter slid out his notebook, "What happened while I was gone?"

George was muttering in undertones to a lady sitting next to him. The redhead's dark eyes flickered over them. If she were a dog, Emily imagined that her ears would be flat against her neck. Her muscles were tensed with urgency.

"We found Helena," Emily announced to the table.

Aviary helped himself to a second sandwich, "This may not come as a shock to _you_, but I found Helena as well."

"What?"

"She had… short blonde hair and a German accent. What did yours look like?"

"Oh, dead with her throat cut out. Aviary, did you draw her?" she looked worried.

"No. Why?"

Emily motioned with a flourish to a man seated near Aviary. The man pulled a photo out of his blazer and slid it across the table. "Is the blonde you saw outside in that photo?"

"Yessir, this was my Helena," the reporter traced the name inscribed at the base; "…Ilsa von Haupstein? Is that a German name? She had an accent to match, although seeing as that death note we found _was_ in German…"

"On the far left is the one responsible for the death note _and_ actually killing the _real_ Helena. The real Helena was Irish, just so you know. And I'm half German and half Martian, by the way, but none of that is important right now. What is important is what Ilsa said to you, Aviary."

"She… can we just—you said Martian."

Emily's eyes widened, "You're changing the subject! What did you tell her?"

"I was writing my article to actually keep myself employed, you see, as you suggested. She read it. Yes, she knows _everything_ about our fantastic journey up to the incident of the time-travel-train. And then she took left to meet the pair of you at her house. Luckily, you are here and not out there at the moment," Aviary kept talking faster as the look on Emily's face became more and more dangerous.

"Aviary, if Ilsa knows that we are here…" she closed her eyes, "She's probably at the house now. Looking around, finding us not there. She will go back to where she last found you. Why did you go to the pub? Whim?"

"The pocket-watch."

She sighed, "Well, there's some relief there."

"And the postman told me to."

"_Gods_," Emily had her face buried in her hands, "Nononono, no, no, _no_."

George was on his feet, "What have you brought?"

"There's still time!" Emily yelled, "Maria, Aviary, we're running. Right now." She bolted for the door, hauling the heavy slab of metallic concrete ajar. The young assassin slid half her face into view, peering out into the male bathroom. She froze, one eye locked with one eye of another. He was poised in a military stance, hands clasped behind his back. Dressed in solid black leather like a Grim, the bathroom lights glinted of his lidless eyes from behind the mask he wore. The only colour on him was the blood red on his armband. A Nazi. _The_ Nazi.

Emily stepped to the side and slammed the door shut. A blade slid through the gap before she could close it. Emily screamed. Aviary felt something cold run down his spine. There was a moment of hesitation before the people of the table ran to help keep the bunker door closed. Emily was struggling to hold him out, feeling the superior strength winning out against her own. Men and women, perhaps half a dozen, were all fighting the might of the intruder, and he was still proving superior.

Maria backed into the opposite corner of the room, cowering with her single strand of fire.

"Fire," Emily swallowed, "It needs the strongest care."

Aviary looked between her and Maria, "I would have thought fire would be the most powerful."

"So did I, but the first fire died," she shut her eyes. Her face all but spoke the words, _and look what I've done_.

The reporter looked about for something to help them. Barren walls were of no help to any of them. "Emily, remember that thing you did with the books?"

"_Read_?"

"You broke open the spider's cage. You made a book fly through the air. You can make the damn wall fly!" Aviary shouted.

"That sounds _fantastic_, Aviary, but I cannot move anything I can't _lift_!"

Aviary fiddled with the pencil in his hat, "That's alright," he murmured, "Maria! Get against that wall. I need half of everyone on this table!" his voice quavered. Aviary pointed at the far wall, "It'll be our battering ram."

Emily struggled harder against the door as more of her support left, now using cerebral kinesis to slow Kroenen's progress. She could hear the ticking in her ear, but did not know if it was coming from a watch or from him.

Aviary and four others held the table off the ground and were ready to run with it. "Emily! Push the wall where the table hits it!"

Emily's eyes had gone black. The sounds seemed muffled. Something alien wriggled inside of her chest, but the telekinesis got sharper. She could feel the door better. In her mind's eye she saw where the ticking came from. She stared rapt the spot on the concrete brick wall where she knew the table would strike. It was all falling together. But to the entity, Kroenen was the familiar. It would open the door for him gladly and the assassin would slice her face.

They ran at the wall. Emily's mind let go of the door and slammed into the wall. The bricks exploded outwards. Her feet slid across the ground as the door was forced open and the blade moved through the air. The rest of the wall started falling. Bricks, and the ceiling, cascading down like a waterfall.

* * *

A/N: I've re-evaluated the plot to include more non-original characters. I bet that will make you happy :) 


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